Paradox-The Art of Obsession
by VictorVictoria
Summary: Morsoi, the spirit of pestilence and plague, has developed something of an obsession. Bunnymund decides to confront him about it, since nobody else seems keen to do so. (Rated for mild language and Morsoi being Morsoi.) (Please be sure to read the Author's Note.)


Author's Note:

Please read _Paradox_ before you settle down for this, otherwise it won't make a lick of sense.

So... I know I've said I may or may not do a sequel to _Paradox_ , and that if I ever did one it would probably be a long time coming, but...well...this sort of came to me while I was driving home from work the other day. It's a sequel but not really a sequel, if that makes sense. It's only a one-shot, first of all, and secondly if there does wind up being a proper follow-up to the main story sometime in the future, this will most likely serve as a prelude to that.

Still, I hope you enjoy! :)

Disclaimer: Obviously I do not own _Rise of the Guardians._ I just play around with some of the characters in my spare time.

* * *

"Morsoi!"

Stifling an unbecoming sigh, Morsoi turned to smile over one shoulder.

"Aster," he said, the name rolling smoothly off his tongue. It sounded both congenial and insulting when he said it that way.

Judging from the rabbit's glare, the furred Guardian had noticed. Or, perhaps, it was the reason for his unexpected visit that prompted him to glower so. Or maybe he'd simply smelled something foul on the wind.

One never could tell with the cantankerous animal.

"I know what you're up to," Bunnymund growled. He kept his distance from Morsoi, something the spirit of pestilence and plague didn't fail to notice. Not that it mattered much—Morsoi's sprites could kill the Guardian before he'd even had time to touch his precious boomerangs.

"Oh?" Morsoi feigned surprise as he turned to face the rabbit squarely. His smile was still untouched, though his eyes glinted with suggestions of amusement.

"Yes. And I want you to stop. Now."

If he hadn't known what this was about already, and hadn't been so very amused by the rabbit's reaction, Morsoi would have been exceptionally insulted and infuriated by the impetuous command.

Instead his falsely-friendly smile widened. "Am I yours to command, Aster?" he asked quietly, almost gently.

"No," the rabbit admitted, and went to say more before Morsoi interrupted him.

"And is she yours to command as well?"

"Don't turn this around, Morsoi. This is all on you, _entirely_ on you. The sheila's made it clear she don't want you so _back_. _off_."

Morsoi's chuckle made the very shadows tremble. Concealed within the gloom, his sprites quivered with the restraint it took to stop themselves from rushing out and devouring the stupid animal. The rabbit sensed the danger, both visible and unseen, and stood with every muscle tense, long ears straight and stiff and twitching upon his head.

But he did not flee. Whether it was out of stubbornness or pride or sheer determination, Morsoi did not know or care; it was an immensely foolish thing for the Guardian to do all the same.

"I think you fail to understand, Aster," Morsoi said silkily. "She is a stubborn thing, much like you Guardians, but she is not wholly unresponsive. She remains as free to reject my future offers as she was to reject my past ones. She could reject me a hundred thousand times and it would matter little. I am patient. I will wait until she is ready."

"Harassing her into accepting a gift isn't gonna—"

"Has she come to you with accusations of harassment on my part?" Morsoi again interrupted, and this time his tone was biting. He was starting to lose patience with this interfering creature. He scowled openly as he remarked, "I would have thought you of all spirits would possess the capacity to understand that she is more than capable of handling her own affairs as she sees fit."

"You're taking advantage, Morsoi. You're pushing too far!"

Morsoi felt magic swirling around him, within him, rising with the tide of his anger. He bared his teeth, his _real_ teeth, as his eyes flared green in the dark.

"Do you think she is not strong enough to withstand me? Is that it? Do you believe her to be some hopeless _helpless_ little girl incapable of deciding what she wants for herself?" That the rabbit could believe his chosen to be so unworthy was beyond intolerable.

It was unforgivable.

"She's far too young to—"

"She is fifty-nine years old. Hardly a child."

"She's no more than a child by our standards and you know it."

"You willingly forget how rapidly she adjusted to our world and how swiftly she harnessed her powers. She's accomplished far more in these four decades than your dear friend Frost did in three hundred years."

"You're taking advantage!" the rabbit accused, thrusting a furred finger out towards his adversary as if to reach across time and space and stab Morsoi in the chest with his claw. "You know damn well the only person she ever really trusted is dead. She's all alone and you're trying to make use of that! It's beyond sickening!"

Morsoi scoffed, "That woman died more than ten years ago. But that fact means nothing to you, it seems. I could have waited a hundred years and you would still make the same baseless accusations." He shook his head at the sheer stupidity of the whole thing. "Go away, Aster. You have no right to impede in this matter."

Bunnymund stood there breathing hard and fast through his nose. Morsoi could practically taste the hatred and rage and disgust radiating off of him, and was again confounded as to why the damn animal cared so much.

Unless…

"Why do you do it?" Bunnymund asked in a harsh whisper, interrupting Morsoi's train of thought. "Why do you insist on doing this to her? Why do you want her so bloody badly?"

"Why wouldn't I?" Morsoi asked, then proceeded to chuckle at the growing consternation on the Pooka's face. "No, I should not ask that question. You would not understand."

No one, least of all the aggravating rabbit spirit, could possibly understand what was driving him so resolutely toward Cassandra Fisher. There was once a time, many years ago, when Morsoi had barely understood it himself, a time when he had wondered how a small slip of a spirit could push him to such obsession and fill his mind with so many conflicting yet _powerful_ desires.

In the end, he found all he need do was close his eyes and remember, and that was more than enough to illuminate matters.

 _Morsoi had always fancied himself one of the most cunning spirits in existence. Though he never denied his vanity played no small part in his ability to freely and boldly declare such, the simple fact of the matter was he_ was _that intelligent. He was also exceptionally powerful, the world's darkest secrets at his disposal, the lives of every living organism little more than grains of dust for him to toy with at his pleasure. He was free to cast plagues of vermin or disease entirely at his leisure, for such chaos was, in a word, "natural". Issitoq was above him, of course, as was Man in the Moon, if only because he lay out of Morsoi's incredible reach and was therefore immune to his extensive powers, but apart from that? No one was greater than he._

 _No one._

 _One would think being so strong would lend to a wonderfully thrilling existence, but his was actually quite boring. Thousands of years of killing and watching others kill had quelled most of Morsoi's basest desires, leaving him oddly empty. He wandered the world as a barren thing, playing idle spectator to generations of humans and spirits as he wondered what he ought to do with himself. There had to be something better, he reasoned, something_ more _, though it took quite a bit of self-reflection for him to fully understand what it was he wanted._

 _He was looking for a spirit who could match him in intelligence and strength. Someone who wouldn't flinch at the mere sight of him or flee the moment one of his sprites appeared because they were too cowardly to face him. Who could stand up to him without causing Morsoi to laugh at their pathetically futile attempts at bravery. Who_ would _stand up to him, physically and mentally, and not be crushed like a dry leaf._

 _What he wanted was an equal._

 _Centuries would pass without him ever catching sight of such a being. When the Guardians first came to be, Morsoi had to admit he'd briefly considered that, perhaps, one of them would prove suitable. After all, they were hand-chosen by Moon and had succeeded in defeating the Dybbukol-infected Pitch Black. But he'd quickly disillusioned himself to such preposterous notions. The Guardians were harbingers of light and goodness, powerful only in numbers, and completely blind to their own hypocrisy. They demanded things be good and fair without actually playing fair themselves, for they were single-minded in their belief that all spirits, regardless of alignment, ought to abide by their ideals._

 _It was "for the good of the children" after all._

 _At best, the Guardians were insufferable fools. At worst, they were completely and utterly out of their depth. Why else would they have been forced to rely upon a group of scraggly children to defend them when Pitch Black had risen again?_

 _Other spirits would briefly catch his eye, but none interested him long enough for him to bother making those interests known. Each was fascinating in one way or another, and some were powerful in their own right, but none could truly match him. Morsoi was disappointed._

 _In time, he began to seriously wonder if his search was pointless._

 _But then…then…just when he had begun to lose hope,_ she _had appeared._

 _Morsoi had watched the entire affair unfold from a distance, amused by the prospect of witnessing the Guardians tear themselves apart while Pitch wallowed under the Dybbukol's ire and the ignorant human child waded through the cesspool of madness to try and scrape up answers. Her youth played against her; she was far younger than any arbiter before her, and it showed at times. Yet in spite of her mistakes, namely her foolish acceptance of the Nightmare King's cloak, she'd proven more resourceful than Morsoi had anticipated. A pleasant surprise, to say the least—past arbiters had been amusing to watch, but they'd been pathetic things, whimpering and sobbing and floundering uselessly within their own minds as guilt and shame overwhelmed them. They too had become spirits in the end, but none had lasted long, too weak to withstand the first kill and the change_ and _the enduring consequences of their choice._

 _But Fisher…Fisher had proved intriguing. Unlike most humans her age, she stood on her own two feet and did not hesitate to make decisions. She faced each challenge with a glare, argued her points with rational rather than emotionally-charged yet logistically empty words (as children were wont to do), was largely immune to lies or manipulation, had endured a direct attack from the Guardian of Hope without being traumatized by the affair, and had made her choice for the rite with little hesitation. She had even come up with the idea of allowing the Dybukkul to infect her entirely on her own, and_ then _followed through with it despite knowing full well that any_ _miscalculation would spell her doom. Such bravery and intelligence and_ intensity _were not to be disregarded._

 _Better still…she had outsmarted him._

Even now the thought made Morsoi shiver with delight. He could not recall the last time he had been outsmarted, yet a twelve-year-old human child had done so without batting an eye. She had learned from unfortunate experience that nothing between spirits was given or taken freely, and had used that information to her own advantage. For her to recall enough of their conversation to know he had failed to obtain true confirmation of her allegiance was impressive enough, but for her to then have the guts to _use_ it to gain his cooperation in kind?

 _Exhilarating._

And now, as a spirit, she was rising swiftly in her power, becoming one whom others feared and respected in equal measure. If she could manage that in a mere forty-seven years, Morsoi thrilled to think of what she would accomplish in a hundred or even a thousand.

Powerful, intelligent, persistent, resilient, self-sufficient, confident.

Cassandra Fisher was perfect.

But even if Morsoi spelled it all out for Bunnymund, he knew the Guardian would not understand. The Pooka would never see Cassandra as anything more than an arrogant child; he was too blinded by resentment.

Speaking of…

"Why are you so invested in stopping me?" Morsoi asked, reverting back to his congenial yet equally mocking tone. "Ah, yes, but I forgot. It is nearly May, how silly of me to ask."

"Are you suggesting," Bunnymund growled, large front teeth bared in a snarl, "that I am only doing this because of what's about to happen?"

"Isn't it? I have heard you are always cranky around this time of year. Easter stresses you, I know that much quite well, but then this…unfortunate affair takes place so soon after. You must be beside yourself at the moment, considering how little time is left before your next imprisonment."

"This has nothing to do with my punishment and you know it," Bunnymund snapped. "If we're going to discuss _anything_ , it'll be your ridiculous attempts at gift-giving. It's getting out of control!"

"Oh?"

"Yes! That fiasco in Nepal? That little _incident_ with Savaş? And don't even get me started about last winter!"

Morsoi sighed quietly. For some reason, the rabbit took that tiny noise as an insult.

"Don't act like it doesn't matter! You can't just go around doing those things, Morsoi! It ain't right!"

"It seems as if quite a bit of what I have done lately is not right in your mind," Morsoi murmured. With his superior hearing the rabbit heard him clearly.

"You're damn right it ain't. When is enough enough, eh? When are you gonna take no for an answer?"

"I take it as one all the time," he replied smoothly. "Did I not just tell you that I am being patient?" He grinned as the Pooka puffed up with rage.

"This ain't funny! This ain't a game! You keep on escalating and escalating, when are the limits gonna be reached? When are you gonna finally admit it's time to stop?"

"I won't stop. Not until she accepts."

"So that's your plan? To coerce her into accepting because you _know_ she won't be able to stand it if you push things too far?" He sounded disgusted by the very notion.

Quite frankly, Morosi was too.

"Do not be pathetic, Aster. She has already been manipulated into accepting once, do you honestly believe she would stand for it to happen a second time?" His voice dropped to a menacing hiss. "How very low you think of her."

The rabbit opened his mouth to retort, but Morsoi interrupted.

"Each time she denies me I must prove myself capable of providing more. That is how it is done. Do you think I would insult her by offering useless trinkets?" He nearly spat in his fury. He restrained himself—barely—and instead settled for a tone that lay somewhere in the gray between a hiss and a snarl. "You think you know everything, Guardian, but you are sorely mistaken. You do not know the half of what I have done or what I am willing to do for her, because it is not your business to know. _You_ do not get to decide what and where and how I choose to present my offerings, for it is not your place _Pooka_!"

The very air seemed to thicken and grow heavy as the two spirits glared at one another, their magical auras cascading around them like ocean waves thrashing against the cliffs. For a moment, Morsoi sorely wished the Pooka would follow through with his blatant desire to attack, just so he could kill the infernal animal and hopefully expel some of the rage currently bottled up inside him.

…But that would not do, a small part of his brain reminded him. Killing Bunnymund would certainly provide immense satisfaction, yet it would also serve to make his existence far more complicated in the long run. For one thing, the other Guardians would be gunning for him. Morsoi didn't fear their combined power and influence, as so many other spirits did, but he honestly couldn't be bothered with that now. He had far more important things to occupy his time.

For another…as much as Cassandra loathed the Pooka, Morsoi knew she would be angry with him if he rid the world of the insufferable rabbit, and even more so when she inevitably found out he'd done so because they'd gotten into an argument about her.

" _I don't need you to fight my battles,"_ she'd snapped at him after he'd generously disposed of Savaş for her. The spirit of war had been warned no less than thrice by Cassandra to keep his distance, for he'd taken to harassing her at every given opportunity, but even that hadn't been enough. On an icy autumn morning in rural Finland, the fool had tried once more to challenge her.

Needless to say, it hadn't gone well.

And after Savaş fled from her, a horde of screaming Nightmares on his heels, Morsoi stepped out of the gloom and casually slaughtered him. When Cassandra arrived moments later on the back of her pegasus Nightmare, Morsoi had presented her with his head.

She had _not_ been pleased, much to his amusement.

Morsoi had escaped that particular incident with little more than a harsh scolding, but he knew if he tempted fate like that again Cassandra would be incensed. And he couldn't have that, now, could he?

 _The things I do for you_ , he thought wistfully as he stamped his fury down. Forcing a haughty smirk onto his face, he said to the rabbit spirit, "Good night, Aster. I hope your _respite_ goes well."

He vanished into the dark, leaving a spluttering and cursing Pooka behind him. As he sped away with his sprites in tow, he swore he heard the accented voice holler after him:

"This ain't over Morsoi!"

 _No,_ Morsoi thought with a broad smile, eyes gleaming green. _It will not be over until she is mine. I will accept no less._


End file.
